The Year I Missed the Spring
by ShadowedSoulSpirit
Summary: I don't know what happened. It started out as February, and I woke up mid-June. My little sister was dead, and I didn't know why; all I knew was 'the bear' and 'the chicken' were involved. Every time I took my medication, I took a step further away from finding out the truth, until the day came where I arrived as an applicant to the new and reopened Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria.
1. Look at Chica's Eyes

**The Year I Missed the Spring**

* * *

**A Five Nights at Freddy's story.**

**Summary: **I don't know what happened. It started out as February, and I woke up mid-June. My little sister was dead, and I didn't know why; all I knew was 'the bear' and 'the chicken' were involved. Every time I took my medication, I took a step further away from finding out the truth, until the day came where I arrived as an applicant to the new and reopened Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. I didn't know I was screwed when I walked through those doors. I was just ready to get paid.

**Warning: **rated T for language, violence, and horror.

* * *

**Chapter One: Look at Chica's Eyes**

* * *

I don't know what happened _that _day.

I refuse to remember. It started out as February, and when I woke up it was mid-June. I've heard stories about how those missing months blotted from my memory were hell on earth for me, but I couldn't remember why.

It feels funny really, standing at the foot of my sisters grave, unable to remember what happened to her, let alone recall if I had been to her funeral or not. My parents always were evasive about the subject. On occasion, I would hear their hushed whispers in the next room over, and when I would put my ear to the door I could make out 'the bear', and sometimes 'the chicken' before a pregnant silence would separate my parents' conversation. If anything could get any more cryptic, it would be those months I can't remember.

The thing is when you forget a few months, you incidentally become the outcast of your school. There's no longer the worry of getting to class on time; the halls are always cleared when I come around. Former friends take off the other side of the cafeteria when the first day of school rolled around, and even teachers who had never seen my face before let alone knew my name made a B line out of the room when I would stay after class for help.

My parents weren't the only ones talking behind my back either. There was always murmurs, all around me, and they too would be saying 'the bear' or 'the chicken', and even in the rare instance of 'the bunny'. Why are these people talking about animals? Did I miss and alien invasion or something?

I used to have a best friend. His name was Conley and we would do everything together. Maybe the aliens took him back with them, because by the time I woke up, my mom said he moved four states over and didn't bother to leave their new address to his long time best friend. There was never an explanation giving for their sudden disappearance. My dad tried to play it off as if Conley's dad got a promotion and moved, but I didn't buy it for a second.

Everyone knew Conley's dad didn't work.

Not only was I rejected by every social outlet in school, the one person who would be there for me had suddenly disappeared. My life wasn't so great when some of the gears that made it turn went missing.

It didn't get any better when my parents removed me from the school system to teach me at home. They would always handle me like I'm broken, and when we would go to my sister's grave they would talk in a pathetic, childish voice like, "You know she's up in heaven now with all the other kids right?"

At the time, I had just assumed they meant all the other dead kids in the world and that they were being overly annoying to me; turns out, like most of my sixteen-year-old assumptions, I was wrong. They were really talking about 'the others' who died during 'the Incident' because of 'the bear' and 'the chicken'. Whatever those code words meant, my sister and four other seven-year-olds had been a victim of them.

Even now, when I stare at the pale limestone of her meager grace, I imagine the stone as a book; a mystery book. I always hated that type of genre. Buried beneath the context of the mystery was everything that was missing; but it died with my sister. I'll never get it back. Not when my parents will never tell.

Even for humans, months can't simply fade away into none existence. They're always buried somewhere deep, and it would take a greater percentage of brain power to uncover them. We can only achieve this state when we dream. I haven't completely forgotten what had happened, for it plagues my dreams nightly. Always, I would wake up in a cold sweat, my eyes burning, screaming "Stay away!" with the faintest echo of a melody imprinted in my eardrums.

When my parents would run in frantically, begging for an explanation, it would be only then that I would realize I could not remember the dream at all. The only thing I could grasp onto was the melody that reminded me of a child's wind-up box.

_Dun dundundundunddun dununun._

It took about three months to compile all I could on the story of my missing spring, and it didn't amount to much. For some reason, my little sister and I went to a place still unknown, with a whole bunch of other kids I didn't know, to hear a song? I'm not sure how the music ties in, or the animals for that matter. It still needs some work.

My parents have started taking me to a therapist named Dr. Kelver. Dr. Kelver always told me to lie down and talk about my feelings. I always said I was confused, and when he would inquire why, I'd say I wanted to know what happened all those months ago. My parents didn't get their money's worth from those sessions, because after that we wouldn't talk again.

I was there now actually; waiting in silence for my hour to be up. Dr. Kelver was more than likely reading the newspaper like he always did, while I got to sit on the couch covered in plastic, trying every moment not to sigh. The TV was turned to some kid's channel, probably for the younger patients who sought his services.

I wasn't going to lie, I felt pretty angry that my parents would take me to such a ridiculous place, forcing me to watch SpongeBob with some creep of a doctor who just sat their silently for the hour. This is _exactly_ how I wanted to waste my Wednesday.

When the program cuts to a commercial, I nearly groan. It was kinda growing on me, the whole sponge living at the bottom of the sea kind of thing; stupid toothpaste commercial. I glare as it goes by, silently mocking the inadequate technology of its advertisement, before an orchestra of bright, circus colors crowd the screen. My curiosity is suddenly peaked.

"Hey kids are you ready?" The narrator spoke, a group of kids whooping and hollering their agreement, jostling each other before a set of close doors. "Are you ready for Freddy?"

"Yes!" The chorus screamed.

A bell chimed, and the door flew open, spilling the children into what appeared to be an arcade, with long strips of dining room tables. Dr. Kelver raised his head.

"Welcome to the grand reopening of Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria!"

_Sounds like a fun place, _I thought, as the kids settle themselves before a stage instead of in the chairs, their eager bodies squirming in anticipation for whatever was behind the velvet curtains. Dr. Kelver suddenly jumped from his chair and violently dug through his drawers for the remote. He's done stranger things so it didn't really bug me. I soon tune him out.

The screen cut to a time lapse, as the lights in the room slowly dimmed, and too the children's utter delight, the curtains were pulled back, revealing three animatronic characters. There was a bunny, a chicken…..and a bear. The bear opened his mouth to speak, but all I hear is the background music as my eyes settle on the chicken.

_Dun dundundundunddun dununun._

I screamed so loudly that I depraved my body of all the oxygen reserves in my lungs and passed out on the couch. It was engraved into the back of my eyelids, imprinted on my soul, so everywhere I looked, all I could see what the eyes of my dead sister, glued into the sockets of the chicken animatronic.

00

I woke up in the hospital the next day, my parents sobbing at my beside, promising I would never have to see Dr. Kelver ever again. I don't care though, even though I had always rued the hours spent with that man. I know Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria was where Gabriella and the others were killed. They couldn't hide that from my anymore; not when I saw her bright, lilac eyes buried in the costume of a chicken mascot.

"What happened?" I asked, but they avoid the true answers by playing coy.

"You passed out, remember?" My mother folded her hands in her lap, but I shook my head.

"What happened to _her"_ I reiterated, but they close up, like a flower blooming in reverse, and refuse to answer the question.

"You can't hide it. I know it happened at that place." My dad tried to pretend he was confused, because that's all he was capable of doing, and even though I was lying in a hospital bed, my voice was never as strong as it was now. "Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. Where Gabriella died."

They seemed alarmed that I would even know her name, and that made me furious. I just couldn't remember 'the Incident', but they made it seem like all my memories were impaired. "He's a special child." They would say when others asked. "And he needs special attention ever since the Incident."

"Shawn… What's in the past needs to stay in the past. There's no need to go diggin' up trouble." My dad said, always a man for a wise voice but not for the words.

Any conversation nowadays was nothing but déjà vu with my parents. I would always receive the same response, as if they were those dumb animatronics too, and couldn't think of anything better to hide the truth from me.

"The bear, the chicken, and the bunny; I may not remember them dad, but I know. I know they were a part of it. _Her _eyes are in the chicken!" I hissed, but my dad doesn't stir from his slumped position.

"Chica…" My mother breathed, her eyes swollen and her face damp. She was much thinner than a stout woman should be.

"Son—Son that's just crazy talk. You're tired. Doc says you need some rest then—then ya gotta take your pill."

Ah the dreaded pill. The magical blue capsule of wonder to suppress the effects of a traumatic experience. Must be taken with food before every meal. Call your doctor if any strange symptoms appear.

Before this whole thing, Gabriella had been the one taking the medicine. It's funny, how I remember that now of all times. She had an irregular heartbeat the doctors had said; and even though it wasn't deadly, it still needed to be monitored and medicated. She was always a trooper when it came to her heart. She'd screw on a brave face and never whine when she had to take a massive pill. Not like me, who always complain when that capsule is pushed my way.

It's weird, knowing she's the one dead. She was only seven, but she had her whole life planned out ahead of her. She was going to be a nurse and she was going to give all her patients red roses. Then she was going to get married to a super star and live in the London and meet the Queen. Honestly, I have no idea how she came up with that one.

Why would someone murder her? What about me, the kid that's one year away from graduating and still has no clue what he will do?

One thing I never asked Dr. Kelver, although I kinda wanted to, was why the good people get killed and the bad people stay. I don't know if the man that killed her got persecuted or not. There was never any news reports, and naturally my parents would never tell me.

"_He's a pirate. He's the bad guy. He's gotta catch all the good people to win. You can't let him do that okay? You can't let him win. Run Shawn run! He's coming!"_

Slowly, I turned my head to the window, seeking the voice, but seeing nothing that could have produced it. What was that?

"_Help me Shawn! He's gonna get me!"_

Was someone in trouble…? I slowly pushed myself up, freaking out my parents even more.

"Shawn please take your pill." My mom pleaded.

"Who is that talking…?" I ignored the hand that held out the pill, and look around, but there was no one but the evasive beings I called my parents.

"Son take your pill now."

I hate that pill so much, but when my dad puts in my palm, and the voice does not continue, I swallowed it. The moment it settles in my system, the effects begin to work. I fell into a deep slumber and forgot everything about that Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. I didn't remember the voice, or the chicken's eyes. It all floated away from me, probably to join the colony of my other lost memories, so I can awake again stress free.

I never realized what that pill really did; and as a result I never heard the name Freddy Fazbear's pizzeria again.

Until the bite of '87.

* * *

**-Soul Spirit-**


	2. The Bite of '87

**The Year I Missed the Spring**

**A Five Night's at Freddy's story.**

* * *

**Chapter Two: The Bite of '87**

* * *

The year of 1987 was not the greatest for me. I turned eighteen that spring; and like most rebellious, suppressed teenagers, I left home. I didn't leave a note of warning or anything. I just got up and left, taking one bag of clothes and the keys to my car as any indication that I was gone**.** I threw all those blue pills in the garbage, and slept in my car; what little money I could find I spent at the payphone, trying desperately to connect to Conley over in Florida.

My rebellious streak didn't last for long. I was starving; my back ached from the poor padding of my back seat. It was rare that I got sleep anymore—probably because I stopped taking the pill. I still couldn't remember anything when I woke up. I just knew it was terrifying, and it had something to do with animals.

…but what animals exactly? The thought seemed to evade me. I used to know.

When my car ran out of gasoline, I knew I had no other option: I had to get a job, or I would die on the streets. I didn't want my parents finding me though. I know they were desperately looking for their only child, and quite frankly I didn't want to see them. Call me selfish… but when you've been purposely lied to and deceived for two years… enough becomes enough.

I never liked the name Shawn anyway. It was my dad's name. Maybe I was just angry, still fuming from the lack of empathy from my parents, but I wanted to erase every last connection. I kept the last name though; but at the court house the following day, I was no longer Shawn. I was Mike. I think it fit me better.

My next order of business was to get a new job. Any supportive job typically wanted twenty-one or older workers; I found this out from the three different places I applied to, and was subsequently denied. Conley still wasn't picking up, and I was receiving no answers from my sister's grave. I ended up mopping around at a gas station when a woman walked in, probably older than me by a few years, and stapled a help wanted poster on top of the other useless offers.

She wasn't even out the door by the time I was reading the paper.

_Waiters or Waitresses needed_

_Pays minimum wage + tips_

_Enjoy free access to all games and events_

_Apply inside_

My eyes skimmed over the name of the business when the woman came over, popping her gum.

"You gonna apply?" She questioned, eying me. I shuddered. Her eyes were greener than grass, and I knew she wasn't seeing anything to be proud of. I was scrawny; two years of traumatic post disorder didn't let me grow more than 5'6", and she was nearly my height.

"Yeah… I need the job…" I murmured, suddenly self-conscious, knowing I probably didn't smell good either.

"How old are you kid?"

"It's Mike… and I'm eighteen."

She smacked her gum again, the crackle leaving a ringing in my ears.

"You're in luck." She said. "I'm the manager, and I need help now. You're hired."

* * *

Her name was Izzy, and she was actually only nineteen; young she said, because the boss wouldn't have to pay her nearly as much and she wouldn't complain. She also left home at eighteen. More than likely not for the same reason, but it felt kinda nice that I wasn't the only one leaving their parents for a bit of freedom.

When she told me to get in my car so she can lead the way, it was embarrassing to tell her that my car was out of gas and had no money. Naturally that sparked questions, and I had to admit I had been sleeping in the thing ever since I left.

"I did that too." She had nodded her head. "I understand what's that like. Hop in. I'll give you a ride."

The insides of her car showed a different side of Izzy that couldn't be suppressed by the crisp uniform. The new distribution of CD's instead of cassettes made her vehicle the treasure trove for all sorts of bands, from heavy metal to classic. My feet kept crunching the covers, and when she would shoot a glare my way I quickly ducked my head and mumbled an apology. Gabriella had liked music too—but only the karaoke kind that she could sing into her microphone.

"So Mike was it? What's your story?" She questioned, staring at me longer than one driving should.

"It's nothing much," I shrugged. "I just forgot an entire spring and had to go through p—"

"You forgot an entire spring?" She raised an eyebrow, and I realized what an odd thing that was to say.

"Something traumatic happened I guess. My sister and four others were murdered… I can't remember it… it's complicated."

Our conversation lapsed into silence for a while, before she spoke again. "My brother was murdered too."

"Younger or older?"

"Younger."

"_He's a pirate. He's the bad guy. He's gotta catch all the good people to win. You can't let him do that okay? You can't let him win. Run Shawn run! He's coming!"_

What was that?

"What did you say?" I looked over at her. She snorted, and popped her gum.

"I said he was younger. Seven-years-old."

_That's not what I mean… Wait. Seven?_

I spoke slowly. "So was my sister…"

"Coincidences are strange huh." She turned off into a parking lot.

_Yeah, _I thought,_ but I'm not sure if it's a coincidence… or the same… and why did I hear that voice? I feel like I have heard it before..._

"Well here we are." Izzy parked the car, throwing the door open. "Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, the shittiest place on earth!"

"_Are you ready for Freddy?"_

I slowly got out of the car too, trying to suppress the strange voices I heard. Was I remembering? Izzy wasn't acting like she heard something, so it had to be in my head. I'm almost caught off guard when I saw her waving at me, pointing at the door.

"This is where you work now Mike. We need to get ready for a party. Come on."

* * *

I didn't think Izzy could have explained the place any better. The lights were constantly flickering, and once or twice when she slammed her fist into the wall they managed to stay on for an hour consistently. The juries of tables were a bunch of cheap goodwill brand that I could find in the back of the church, with stained plastic coverings to hide the fact that wood board were the only reason they were propped up.

"This place used to be really cool." She explained as I was scrubbing away two year old soda stain. "Then stuff happened and the place went in the dark for a while. It's only been a few months before they've publicly been active."

"What happened?" Knowing the stain wouldn't come out; I stood up, and glanced in the direction that the tables were pointing. There was a small stage protruding from the wall, guarded by thick moth bitten curtains.

"Stuff. Dunno." She shrugged, following my gaze. "That's where the characters perform. They're freaking annoying."

"Uh…" I was more curious about the peeling paint on the wall then whatever she was talking about. This place was once really colorful; I could tell from the reds and yellow and blues that slowly wilted to the floor. Why does no one take care of this place? "Izzy why is this place a dump?"

She was busy tossing plastic plates on the table. "Cause the boss ain't sure how long it will stay open. But hey we got a potential buyer coming. His son is the one with the birthday."

"And he's coming to a heap like this?"

"He likes Freddy Fazbear. What can I say? Some kids are dumb."

"_Jdj get out daksjd get out sdk pa you will die3iajw you're going to die diwaodwi will kill youf jskjod shawn"_

I nearly stumbled into a lose chair. What was that? Izzy was going about her business normally. Why am I hearing voices in my head all of a sudden? Were they there before?

"Hey Mike you don't have to be nervous. This job is pretty easy."

"Y-yeah… right…" I needed to get over myself, whatever the problem was. I needed the money. I'd like to stop living out of my immobile car.

Izzy nudged me. "Hey the kids are here. We need to let the animatronics warmed up."

* * *

Izzy showed me a panel on the same wall as the stage, pointed to each switch, and explained to me that the animatronics took a while to warm up. Something about their rusty gears and the lack of fund made them on the loose end, so it was better to get them warm instead of running them cold. There were four labels right in a row: FB CC BB FP. I didn't know what it meant, so I asked her.

"It's to indict what animatronic." She had rolled her eyes. "Some people are stupid and can't remember them I guess."

Afterwards, she took me to the kitchen, where she fed me the best meal of my life: cardboard pizza and a bottle of root beer. We had to wait until all the kids arrived before we could start the show; something about kids complaining that they missed a part and had to see it again and Izzy didn't want to hear their songs more than she had to. I had yet to hear them, but the way she talks about them, I'm sure they are pretty nerve grating.

"When's the show going to startttt." A snot nosed kid whined when twenty minutes past and only half his friends arrived.

"The shows going to start when the party gets here." Izzy snapped, but the kid only glared at her remark.

"It'll be soon I promise." I intervened, and the kid walked to join his friends.

"Brat…" She popped her gum, "That was the buyer's kid. I hate him to no end. As stuck up as they come."

I'd never been around much money. Most of it went to my therapy after my sister died. Everything was budgeted; probably another reason why I was roped off from the rest of my class, because I was suddenly out of date.

"Maybe he's just excited?" Izzy rolled her eyes at that, and I dropped the conversation. I was in charge of serving the kids pizza while she pressed the start switch to the show. Whatever lights that worked begin to dim, and the party abandoned their pizzas to sit before the stage. It reminded me very vaguely of something, as if I had seen a similar sight to before.

Before the show could start, Izzy beckoned me over to the panel.

"Listen up newbie. See this button?" Her fingers hovered over the switch marked FP. "Whenever you want to run a show, do not hit this."

"Why's that?" I asked, and she smacked my arm.

"I'm getting there. These three over here," Her indicator moved to the CC, FB, and BB buttons, "Are the machines behind the curtains." She moved back to the FP. "This guy over here is in the arcade area. If you set him off during the show, the kids will scatter and it will be one loud mess. Only hit this one when the shows over and they go to that area."

"Scattered…?"

She snapped her gum at me. "This one plays games with the kids. He'll coming running in here to play."

I don't know whether it was the sudden cry from the audience, or my bewildered look, but Izzy shrugged and said, "What, he moves. Didn't expect that?"

No in fact, I did not expect that. That had to be some pretty advanced technology for one of the animatronics to literally move from its stage. I was almost mildly intrigued. I wanted to see if she was bluffing or not. But as my finger reached up to hit it, she instantly struck it down.

"Mike! Play the freaking show first!" She snapped, and hit the small red button next to the top three switches. The curtains slowly begun to roll away, and before I could react Izzy dragged me back to the kitchen. It was only by pure luck that I turned my head in time to catch the three animatronics that the children screamed at.

A Bunny. A Chicken. A Bear.

* * *

When the songs finally ended—and Izzy was right, they were the most annoying thing ever—we turned off the three stage animatronics, and finally she presents the FP switch to me.

"You want to see it don't you?"

I nodded my head eagerly. I always had a slight infinity for technology, although I was around little of it. I used to stay after school all the time with our Computers teacher, just learning. I wanted to know if I could figure out how this thing worked the same way I learned about cassette tapes.

"Alright here we go." With that, she flipped on the switch, and led me to the arcade.

This area was better than the party hall, but only by a fraction. The paint actually stayed on the walls, and the arcade lights bounced and echoed in the areas that the light couldn't reach, giving the area plenty of visibility. The party had moved here, pounding away at pinball machines and other things that were set up. My eyes drifted to the corner, where a slightly smaller stage sat; I assumed it's where the last animatronic was held, and I was proven correct, when slowly the curtain began to get pull back. However, it wasn't smooth like the performance, and it was only one side.

"Is it broken?" I asked, and Izzy shook her head.

"Foxy pulls back his own curtain."

_So its name is Foxy…_

Inch by inch, the fabric rolled, and a head began to peer around the hook that drew the curtain back. It almost amused me. He looked like a pirate. A pirate fox. When a child would look his way, he would stop, and wouldn't move; but when it was just me and Izzy, he kept easing the curtain back, until he was halfway out of it before the same kid could look again.

"Alright kids who wants to play the treasure hunt?" The moment the words left Izzy's lips, the party was on her, raising their hands and begging in muffled voices that they wanted to be it. Avoidingly, Izzy moved her finger around, bating them, and delaying her selection, until they nearly topple her.

"You, you and you." The three lucky ones began to scream in excitement, while the others turned their eyes to Foxy's stage; he was gone. "What are your names?"

"Mathew!"

"Zack!"

"Henry!"

Izzy rolled her eyes; I've noticed she could care less about her job. I could tell she probably wanted to plug her ears at all their screaming. "Alright Foxy!" She called, even though he didn't appear to be around. "Matthew, Zack and Henry have your treasure!" At that, the kids took off running; even the ones who weren't playing took off for sport.

"What are they doing?" I glanced over at her as she folded her arms.

"It's a good cop, bad cop sort of game." She answered. "Foxy is the villain, and he's trying to steal from the 'good' kids. The point is to not get caught."

"What happens when you get caught?"

She snorted. "You lose."

As the words left her lips, there was a sudden scream. We glanced at each other and took off, the scream rattling our ears. Izzy was stiff and hardly maneuvered through arcade games, as if she was feeling the same thing I did: dread. We managed to get around to Foxy's stage, only to see the pirate's teeth sunken into the skull of one the kids—Henry I think. The buyer's kid.

"_He's caught me! Help Shawn! Hah!"_

"Mike!" I shook my head to clear the voice from my mind, only for it to be replaced by Izzy's. "Mike turn off Foxy!"

She stared at me, fear struck into her eyes. She didn't seem the type of girl to be scared, but she was, and so was I, because we both know the animatronic should not be trying to kill a child. I could hardly feel my body moving into the party room, to the control panels, away from the screaming. I wanted it to end, as if I heard such dying screams before, and in my hast I slammed my fist into the switches. Foxy turned off; but the others turned on.

In the process of running back for Izzy, I turned my head at the sound of the curtain drawn, seeing the animatronics revealed to a crowd that wasn't there. They don't start singing. All that happens, is the bear raises his eyes, then his microphone to his mouth. I expected him to start the song. He doesn't.

"Shawn." He breathed, his voice heavy. "We see you."

* * *

**To be continued…**

**-Soul Spirit-**


	3. They Shouldn't Move

**The Year I Missed the Spring**

**A Five Nights at Freddy's story.**

* * *

**Chapter Three: They Shouldn't Move**

* * *

I was out on the streets again before I got my first paycheck, but for whatever reason, I couldn't remember, and that seemed to piss Izzy off.

"You were there Mike! You saw what Foxy did!" We were at the gas station, the same gas station we first met at, exhausted and sleepless.

"I told you I can't remember." I sighed for the eleventh time. She was angry that I couldn't back up her police report when we were brought in for questioning.

"How can you not remember?" Her gum snapped like a beast's teeth, and I cringed uncomfortably.

"I don't know! It's always been like this!"

She crossed her arms, not buying the story, but honestly I've got nothing else. This memory disorder was getting bad. I can't even remember where I applied at.

"Whatever." She finally dropped, slouching in the booth we occupied. "Now I got no money and a teenager with short term memory loss."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm not your problem."

"You made me look like an idiot, so yeah you're my problem. I'm going to get you to remember."

A chill seeped up my spine. That doesn't sound so good. "How do you plan on doing that?"

She smacked her gum, before leaning over a trashcan to spit it out. "Me and you are going to the joint tonight."

"Going? To that place you keep talking on about?"

She leaned across the table to slap my arm.

"Ow!" I pulled the offended ligament, rubbing it against my chest. "What was that for?"

"I swear, stop acting like that." Izzy warned, but I was clueless.

"What are you talking about?"

"Stop acting like you have no clue. You will remember. Stop acting like you never will."

Even though she seemed pretty confident in her plans, I had my doubts. How many years had it been now that I couldn't even remember a spring? And still I have not even a sliver of evidence that I could remember it again. Something did surface in my mind though. My parents did take me to a therapist once, but they stopped taking me suddenly. Why was that? I decided to voice the thought.

"Obviously something happened." Izzy pointed out, but it only frustrated me. Of course something happened. _But what?_

"I remember that my parents believed that he was the cure to all my problems. It seems a bit funny to me that they stopped taking me to him."

She pondered on this, chewing her lips now that her gum was gone. "I have no clue…"

There was no way I was going to show up at my parents' doorway and ask for answers they would allude to and never explain. All the answers I needed are locked in my head. I just have to find the key to unleash them.

"So about going to this place…" Izzy looked like she was ready to snap at me again, so I quickly continued. "Do you really think this is going to work? Because I don't know… maybe going back will just make me forget even more."

She shrugged. "I just want to show you who bit that kid before they tear the place down, okay? So you'll at least remember who I'm talking about."

That seemed reasonable; but there was even more important matters than restoring my memories at the moment. Izzy was ready to address them.

"I'm going to apply around, see what's available."

"You can't. They don't take anyone under twenty-one."

Izzy tsked me before fishing out a driver's license, pushing it across the table. I glanced down at it. It claimed her age is twenty-two. I looked up at her questioningly.

"It's fake." She deadpanned. "Made to help me out. Age isn't an issue. Besides we need food, so a little fib won't hurt anyone."

"We?"

She snatched the license from grasp. "You're living with me until we get to the bottom of this Mike. This memory thing is freaky and not normal. I don't think I can live with myself letting a kid wander around without being able to remember his own name."

"I can remember that just fine and I'm not a k—"

"That's why," Izzy continued, uninterrupted by my protest. "We're doing this tonight. Maybe if we can get a little bit of your memory back, the other parts will start returning too."

Izzy began to scoot out of the booth, but I couldn't move. That doesn't make sense.

"Why are you helping me…?"

She rolled her eyes and pulled out a packet of gun, unwrapping a fresh piece. "Cause." She popped it in her mouth. "I want to prove I'm not crazy too."

* * *

It was around midnight when Izzy demanded I pile into her car, trying to avoid crushing the CD's again. This time when I snapped the cover of some album that swam at my ankles, she didn't even look my way. She stayed focus on the road, her face illuminated by passing street lamps.

I still don't really understand her. She owed me nothing and yet, she's doing this. It's an act of kindness that I can't conceive, and for some reason it vaguely reminded me of Gabriella.

We rode in silence, very much like we did when we left the police station. I didn't know what to say, and she didn't bother to try to spark a conversation. It made me a bit uneasy. I mean, I have no idea where she was taking me, although I was supposed to know. What if it was some place horrible?

I didn't get to dwell on it for long. It only seemed like five minutes before she was turning into a parking lot

The daylight had already fizzled out, forcing me to squint out the window to read the sign.

_Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria _

It wasn't ringing any bells.

_Izzy said I was here! _I didn't hear that the driver's door had opened, and Izzy popped out onto the pavement. _Why can't __I __remember that?_

"Yo Mike, you coming or what?"

I had to shove the thoughts from my mind. She said she would help me get them back. Everything will finally make sense, and I'll understand the dark blotches that crowd my memory. I don't hesitate as I got out of the car to join her.

The place seemed kid friendly and nice. Although weathered, the bright paints applied to the exterior made it lively; the only thing out of place were the scraps of police caution tape that stuck to parts of the pavement and door way. I looked at Izzy questioningly.

"I told you. You and I saw Foxy's great unraveling." She shrugged. "That's why we came here. So you could remember that."

Even though I desperately wanted to remember what she was talking about, it felt wrong to be trespassing on some little kid's wonderland.

"Are you sure about this?"

I didn't really have to ask. Izzy was already unlocking the door, and slipping under the roll of tape that hugged it.

"Course I'm sure. I'm just going to show you Foxy, and you'll probably remember then."

I didn't have much of a choice, so I followed her, gently closing the door behind me, and praying that no one would pass by and see the lone car in the middle of the parking lot with no driver and get any funny ideas.

"Come on Mike! Quit spacing on me! You gotta focus!" Izzy was almost across the large party hall by the time my brain got the memo and hurried to follow.

The place looked like it would be great for kids—long lines of tables with endless assortments of party hats waiting at each unoccupied chair, a great stage at the far end with thick curtains, although holy and falling from the rings.

I brushed past something, and nearly jumped out of my skin, but chuckled when I realized it was a deflated balloon. Even though I knew in my head that this place was for kids two times younger than myself, it was still creepy when the only light was the moon that filtered through the windows.

Out of curiosity, I looked at Izzy. "What's behind the stage?"

She snorted. It must be something I should remember but don't. "The animatronics."

Something sparked a wire in my head. "Animatronics? Really?" She turned away from me and proceeded to the next room. I followed closely. "Are they actually good?"

"Annoying." She grunted, her side clipping the edge of an arcade game. I made a special note to avoid it.

I don't like it when it goes quiet. It made the atmosphere even more daunting, so I quickly chased the conversation.

"I really like electronics." She doesn't seem to care. "I like learning how to take them apart and put them together. I once saw this animatronic bunny and I—" She stopped suddenly, and I nearly crashed into her. She flashed me a look.

"What did you say?"

"I saw an animatronic bunny?" Something about that seemed to stop her from going further. "It was actually really good. I think it was set to strum a—"

"Guitar." We finish simultaneously, and I quirked an eyebrow. Had she seen this animatronic before? I felt like I was really little when I saw it though, that sense of a fading memory that I was short and always had to look up at things.

"Yeah... how did you know?"

She grabbed my arm, pulling me along to pick up the speed. "That's an animatronic here."

I couldn't dwell on her words. Before I could even open my mouth she had me in front of stage, its curtains thinner and its impressiveness much dimmer than the one in the next room. She eagerly inserted her hand in the slit, and turned to me.

"This Mike, is Foxy." She drew back the curtains with a tug.

I expected a slap in the face. A sudden 'ah-ha!' eureka moment to wash over me and make everything clearer than water, but that wasn't what happens. Instead, I was trespassing at the dead of night in a kid's pizzeria, staring dumbly at the limp animatronic of a fox, not finding anything familiar about him at all.

"Well?" Izzy impatiently asked, gauging for a reaction similar to the one I had imagined.

"I don't remember him."

She sighed exasperatedly, before she held up Foxy's head. "Remember?!" She grabbed his snout and opened and closed it, causing his stained teeth to grind with every chomp. "He bit into that kid's head?"

Sometimes, I wondered if I was the one who lost something. She seemed kind of ridiculous standing there, waving the animatronic around like it was some cure to all my problem. Nothing had changed in the forgetting department.

"No I don't remember that at all." I crossed my arms. "I've never been here before."

She paused, and let go of Foxy. She pursed her lips for a moment, before her eyes lit up.

"Yes you have!"

"I haven't—"

I was beginning to think my arm was a leash. Before I can finish she had hold of it again, leading me back to the main room from before; this time, right up to the stage we first saw.

"You've been here because you know Bonnie." She explained, but I tilted my head.

"Bonnie?"

"It's the bunny animatronic." She had a harder time pulling back the curtains on this one, but before I can offer help she had it slid across the stage. She came back to my side panting but proud.

"See." She pointed. "That's—"

Her indicator wilted to her side when she realized that she had been pointing at nothing. Maybe she had lost her mind and I was hanging out with a lunatic. There wasn't a bunny on the stage at all. Only a bear, and an unimpressed looking chicken.

"Very funny Izzy." I said. "Now let's get out of here before we get in trouble."

She doesn't move when I do. She seemed frozen to the spot. I opened my mouth to call her name again, but her words stop me cold.

"Bonnie's gone…" She whispered.

I don't like the way she said that; the way she implied that something had been there before but now it had disappeared. It sent a shiver down my spine.

"Animatronics don't just walk off stages." I bit my tongue after I said that. Something about that statement… seemed wrong to me.

"Bonnie is supposed to be here." She insisted. "If they were taking the animatronics they would've taken all three. Help me look."

She latched onto my arm and halls me back to the arcade room, and we began our search. There was very few places an animatronic could be, but when I glanced back at Foxy's little cove, I saw that the pirate's head was sticking out from his curtains. We didn't leave him like that.

"Izzy—" I go unheard. She was already in the employees' only room before I could hurry after her. There was no sign of any large mechanical bunny getting a coffee in the break room or lounging in the security room. We even checked the back, and there wasn't any limbs hanging out the garbage. We returned to the arcade room, with Izzy perplexed and myself exhausted. Izzy hurried to the main room to do another sweep, but my eyes landed on Foxy again. His whole torso was out, his head cocked and his arms poised for a run. Was it me or was he… moving?

"_Haha! Shawn isn't this fun? Run run Shawn! Ha! Shawn!"_

"MIKE!" Izzy's scream startled me so bad that I crashed into an arcade game and knocked it over, the glass splintering across the floor. I sprinted for the main room, only to see Izzy's finger nailed on something in the middle of the room.

"She moved!" Her voice shrieked.

If I wasn't terrified before, I was defiantly now. The bear was alone of the stage; his counterpart now stood in the middle of the room, her mouth open, her eyes pinned on something in the corner of the room. The chicken was off the stage. _The chicken had literally moved from the stage. _This wasn't funny. This wasn't funny at all.

"How did it do that?!" I demanded, but the fear had formed tears in Izzy's eyes. She didn't know.

"I have no clue! They shouldn't be able to move from the stage." Her voice was breathless and high, just a garble of squeaks that formed words. I trained my eye on the chicken, and tried to follow its gaze. It was staring at a security camera.

Suddenly, a cloud passed over the only source of light, causing the building to go dark. Izzy squeaked and crushed my arm tight. I barely had time to think of how she seemed so scared although she acts so tough, because by that time the light had returned and the chicken wasn't staring at the camera any more. It was staring right at us.

Izzy squeezed my arm tighter, and I quickly looked to the stage. The bear was gone. The bear was gone.

"L-let get out of here!" Izzy said, tugging on my arm, basically dragging me far around the chicken as we possibly could go. Once we reached the door and the other side, the chicken's eyes were on us once again. They were lilac. The same as my sisters had been.

"Mike!" I couldn't hear her. I was too busy staring at the chicken, at the bunny that now stood peeking around the door to the arcade, listening to the distinctive 'Shawn' in a heavy voice that projected itself across the room. "Mike!"

I couldn't force myself too look away; not until a scream jolted me, and it wasn't from Izzy. It was from the animatronic that was _running_ straight for _me, _its voice box screeching at the sight of me about to gave my arm one final heave before she could kick the door in Foxy's face, ending whatever nightmare we had stepped into.

"What the hell was that?"

I couldn't responds. The night was foggy and dim; my answers were about as murky as the atmosphere around us. She stared at me, like she was expecting an explanation for something I did.

"Why did you hesitate?" She asked, but I don't have an answer. I didn't realize I did that.

"I can't believe that…" She exhaled after my silence grew. "Foxy was the only one that moved, but Chica literally jumped off the stage. She isn't supposed to do that."

She continued with her rambling, but it only deepened the confusion that was forming in my head.

"Those thing are possessed or something. I can't—Mike? Mike are you listening to me?"

I turned towards her figure seated on the side walk, the moonlight showing the sheen layer of sweat on her face. I furrowed my eyebrows, and gave my hair a ruffle with my fingertips. I don't want her to think she was crazy or anything but… I had to say it.

"What are you talking about?"

* * *

**Sometimes our greatest enemy is our memory.**

**-Soul Spirit-**


	4. Welcome to Freddy's

**The Year I Missed the Spring**

**A Five Night's at Freddy's story.**

* * *

**Chapter Four: Welcome to Freddy's**

* * *

It was dark. So dark I couldn't see my hands as I waved them in front of my face. I couldn't remember where I was, but that was nothing new. I try to go through the new ritual Izzy had adopted for me—to help me remember, although it hadn't work yet. I went through the checklist anyway, mentally counting off the things she had constantly preached to me as I sat in the dark.

_What do I remember last?_

I remembered standing the parking lot, listening to Izzy rant and rave at me for my disorder; screaming things about how she wouldn't go back in the building for a million dollars. I sat in the car numbly listening to her, unsure what she was saying, the distinctive words in her sentences confusing me when I realized I had no clue what she was talking about.

_What was I supposed to be doing?_

That... I couldn't be sure. I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. Everything gets hazy after Izzy got into the car and started it up, like the purr of the engine had lulled me to sleep. Maybe I was still in the car, or better yet her apartment. But if that was the case, why was it so dark? I couldn't answer that.

_Who am I?_

Honestly, I felt so ridiculous; but if it would prove to Izzy that there was some things that I could permanently remember, then so be it. My name is Mike Schmidt. I was originally Shawn, but I changed my name after my overbearing parents refused to tell me why I forgotten an entire spring. That basically summed up my life.

_Do I feel like something is missing?_

Yes, I do. Light. The dark felt wet although there was no water. The air was damp and I could hear but couldn't see, smell but couldn't taste, half my sense obliterated by the darkness. Even though it seemed cold, I tasted warmth. Something hot was baking, but I was too afraid to scuffle in the direction blindly. I kept swiveling my head, expecting for some ray of light to show me the way, but the same obsidian screen greets me from every angle. The strong aroma of food danced around me, but I still couldn't find the courage to get to my feet.

"Izzy?" the floor around me was solid; slick, so probably linoleum. There was a thin layer of grim that caked my fingers, so I quickly wipe them on my pants. I don't receive a response.

"Izzy where are you?"

Something told me that Izzy wasn't anywhere near me. I was never one to be afraid of the dark; but it's an entirely different situation when you're alone and you shouldn't be.

I don't have much of a choice, considering the blackness was beginning to trigger some claustrophobic-ness inside of me even though it was probably a wide open room. I pat the floor around me before I select some random path, making sure the floor wouldn't magically give way underneath me as I crawled forward, my hands out further than the rest of my body to check for any hindrance in my paths.

It felt like hours had passed, and I wasn't sure how far I moved, softly calling Izzy's name as I went. I once knew a kid who was blind in one eye; everyone always picked him apart and made fun of him piece by piece. For the hell of it I asked him one day what he saw through the blind eye. He had told me nothing. Is this what nothing looked like?

It didn't take me long before I came to a standstill once again. What was I even doing? It was obvious I couldn't make any progress. I sighed in defeat, and slump back. The blackness felt like a box that enclosed me, making my fingers tingle with the eagerness to move.

"Izzy…? Conley…? Anyone…?" It was hopeless. I was all alone.

Or so I thought.

"Shawn…" It was a sweet, honeysuckle voice that drew me to my feet. I felt like I knew it, but couldn't put my finger on it.

"Hello…? Can you help me..?" I took a step forward, my foot hitting something and nearly tripping me. I felt a warmth pass me, before the voice spoke again.

"This way..."

I turned, and the pathway behind me was lit by fluorescent lights on the ceiling. The speaker was nowhere in sight; but the light was enough to make me cringe and cover my eyes so they could adjust. The walls were a pale slate, a strip of checkered wall paper with red trim running own the middle, as if an arrow to point me 'this way!'

I tried to look back to what I nearly tripped on, but it was pitch black, as if the darkness had constructed a wall the moment the light had appeared. I start to reach out to touch it.

"Shawn!"

I jumped and pulled away from the shadows. Apparently, whoever it was, didn't want me to touch it, and to be honest I was afraid if I did I would be sucked back into it. Instead, I began to follow the hallway.

It was actually surprisingly long. There was the occasional poster or two, dedicated to the reopening of some pizza joint. I couldn't help but pause on one, which had childish scribble to the drawing. _My day at the New Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria! _it said, with a crayon picture of a boy all alone, crying, with lumps of red all around him.

"What the hell..?"

Why would a kid draw this! I looked to the artist's name, and yanked myself away instantly, my back slamming into the parallel wall.

_Shawn Schmidt_

That signature was mine; I knew because I always struggled with my a and my d. I couldn't have drawn that! I mean… I don't remember doing it anyway. My head throbs the more I thought about it. What was I thinking? Maybe I ended up getting lost…? But that doesn't explain the red lumps that strangely resemble bloody corpses.

"Shawn…" The honeysuckle voice was back again, but I wasn't sure I could move. Where's Izzy? Why am I here? More specifically, where am I?

"Time to go Shawn… Shawn…"

I don't have time to continuously drill my brain for answers it couldn't give. I marched back over to the poster and ripped it from the wall, crumbling it up so I could stuff it in my pockets. When I find Izzy, I'll show it to her and she'll help me understand.

"Do you know where Izzy is?" I called to the voice.

"Come…"

I know the person. I know that voice. But from where? It was a voice I trust, because I don't even comprehend the fact that I was continuing my pace down the hallway, new lights flickering on until I got to a corner. The decorations had become thicker now, so as I turned in the last stretch of the hallway there was many pictures like mine, except friendlier and more kid appropriate.

I stop when the hallway spills into a great big room, the ceilings so high that it was just black above my head. In the middle of the room was one table, and upon that table was one party hat. There was a small platform that faced the head of the table; anything else was faded by the shadows.

Tenderly, I approached the table. There wasn't anyone around, so was the table and the party hat meant for me? Why though?

_Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria…._

Maybe this was a little kid's place; and maybe they thought I was a little kid.

"Have a seat Shawn…"

I shrugged and obeyed the voice, sitting myself at the head of the table. There was nothing else I could have done, not with my mind swelling with questions. Something about this place felt oddly familiar, and it doesn't help that I had a picture in my pocket that only created more answerless questions.

It stayed quiet for a long time. The voice must have abandoned me. Or maybe it had been all in my head, just like the one I heard occasionally from time to time.

_I can't even remember that…_

I sighed and closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, one thing was missing. The party hat.

"Surprise!"

I will admit, I screamed when the string of the party hat slapped my chin and the voice next to my ear said that. It was a different voice this time, and my heart was thumping so hard I felt like I was going to have a heart attack.

"Too soon?" teased the voice, as he leaned over the table top to get a better look at me. I tried to control my lose breathing as I returned his curious stare.

He had blue hair, with thick bangs and two strips of hair that went behind his ears like mini ponytails. The blue was more of a cobalt tint that clashed with his awfully pale skin and maroon colored eyes. He grinned sheepishly at me.

"Sorry." He apologized, but it doesn't ease my breathing any. I fumbled with the party hat on my head, yanking it off, feeling like the string was disabling the air flow. He frowned a little when I tossed it aside.

"Who are you…?"

At the sound of an introduction, his grin returned. "I'm Bonnie!"

Something about that made me laugh. He pouted at me. "What's so funny?"

"Isn't Bonnie a girl's name?" I chuckled, but stop dead. His face had darkened at my comment, like he was highly offended by the idea of it.

"That wasn't very nice Shawn…" He spoke slowly, and very creepy, the previous warmth I felt from him turning ice cold around me.

"Lay off the boy Bonnie." After hearing the new voice, Bonnie smiled and relaxed again, but I was already on high alert when the second boy arrives at the table, sitting at the end opposite of me.

"I'm sorry about my friend... He's… special." This one had messy chocolate brown hair and formidable blue eyes that seemed to pierce my soul and made me shiver. The only thing strange about this one is he had a top hat perched symmetrically in the middle of his head.

"It's okay…" I rubbed my arms, trying to ease the heat back in. I opened my mouth to ask the newcomer, but he already knew what I was going to inquire.

"My name is Freddy." The tone in which he spoke bothered me. It was as if he was talking down to me, like he knew he was superior in some sort of way.

"Do you know where you friend is?" Freddy tched me much like Izzy would do, but before I could snap that I couldn't remember, Bonnie was in my face, grinning ear to ear.

"Remember Shawn? We're your friends!" He chirped, but I shook my head, although something did seem familiar about his mannerism. I was about as clueless with him as I was with the voice though.

"I mean Izzy. Is she here?"

"What, the girl?" Freddy boredly tilted his head, not moving his eyes from me. It made me uncomfortable to talk to him.

"Yeah."

He rolled his eyes. "I don't very much care for her attitude you know…"

"Yeah she kept calling us mean things!" Bonnie spoke up, his arms crossed over his chest.

Just what the hell is going on?

"Can you please explain to me what's going on?" I asked softly, but I end up receiving both of their unsightly stares. I adverted my eyes.

I don't know these people, yet Bonnie claimed we were friends. Is that some kind of joke or…? I looked at Freddy from my peripheral vision. He seemed much harsher than Bonnie, as if all of this was a game and he was serious about winning.

_Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria… Freddy._

"Is this your pizzeria?" I questioned Freddy, and he gave a little shrug.

"More or less." He picked off an imaginary particular of dust from the suit he was wearing. "It's named after me, but I don't own it."

"How do you know Izzy?"

He scowled me. "You ask too many questions boy."

"She took care of us!" Bonnie explained, causing Freddy to scowl again.

Izzy.. took care of them? Huh…? _Maybe they mean how she's taking care of you... _my mind reasoned, and it did sound like a good explanation. _She just looked after them._

Before I can ask another question, Freddy cut me off—but he wasn't talking to me.

"Chica are you going to come out anytime soon?"

"I'm observing."

It was the honeysuckle voice from before. I stood up, knocking my chair down, staring hard into the darkness in the direction she had spoken. Maybe if I saw her, I would recognize her.

"Stop observing then." Growled Freddy. "And come here to greet our guest."

Her graceful form stepped from the darkness, and what first struck me was her lilac eyes. Next was the short hair, colored an unnaturally bright blond, and the gentle curl of her lips. Gabriella. That was Gabriella, older and without her normally peach colored hair. There was no doubt in my mind. That was her smile, her eyes. She was no longer seven but she was beautiful and she was most defiantly my sister.

"Gabriella…?"

She chuckled softly, almost teasingly. It was my little sister.

"No Shawn. I'm Chica."

I raised an eyebrow. "Gabriella it's me! Don't you remember?"

"It's Chica."

An arm wrapped around my shoulder, a hand in my hair forcing me to look away from her.

"And I'm Bonnie." Bonnie darkened again, but his grin only added to the creepy factor. He yanked my head towards the final person, whose eyes began to glow.

"And I'm Freddy Fazbear. Welcome, to your five nights at Freddy's."

Dark, twisted music filled the air. _Dun dundundundunddun dununun. _

I shrieked so loud I jolted my body awake, my arms smashing against the dash, my sister's new name sputtering from my lips in such a high pitch squeak that Izzy woke up next to me suddenly, and jerked my arm.

"Mike! It was a dream!" She said, grabbing my other arm before I destroyed her car. My heart was already in my ears, drumming so loudly that I could barely hear the fact that I was crunching the CD cases again.

"Mike!" She grabbed my face to douse my screams, her eyes frantic with worry. "Mike did you just say Chica?"

I took big gulps, trying to replenish my lungs, and when I managed to calm myself down, I yet again couldn't provide an answer.

"I don't know…"

She groaned and rocked back on her side, making the car shake a little. I tried to get my bearings, seeing the beginning of dawn piercing the night sky through the window. I remembered. Izzy couldn't pay the rent on her apartment. We had to sleep in her car. That's where I was. That's where I had been all along.

"Honestly I feel like I'm with a little kid…" Izzy rubbed her eyes, smearing whatever makeup that managed to stay on, off.

_Little kid…_ Quickly, I shoved my hand in my pocket, pulling out a wad of paper. It was still here. Had that been a dream at all? I hastily unwrap it with Izzy staring at me like a lunatic, but when I finally had it smoothed out I was sorely disappointed. It was a math assignment from my junior year—probably washed in my pants and preserved this entire time. What was expecting anyway? Whatever it was, this wasn't it.

"Were you having a bad dream?" Izzy asked.

I honestly couldn't remember. But since I woke up screaming, I could only assume yes

"Yeah. It was…"

She sighed and leaned her head against the steering wheel. I felt like a burden on her shoulders; she shouldn't have to carry me around. I had to remember. I couldn't be her burden anymore.

"Maybe we could go to my sister's grave." I suggested. "It always helps me think."

She raised her head, and for a moment I think she was going to say no. But she grinned at me and retrieved a fresh piece of gum.

"I like you're thinking Mike." She started up the truck with a rumble. "Let's go then."

As we drove, I gave her turn by turn directions, even once having to lunge over to grab the steering wheel when she nearly turned right. It was a lot of effort, but eventually we rolled into the cemetery when it was almost 6:30 in the morning, searching for answers amongst a bunch of corpses.

I got out and looked around, breathing in the familiar scent of honeyed oaks and the planted flowers. I had to find something, one sliver of memory to prove to Izzy I wasn't a lost cause. I had to prove I could remember.

I lead Izzy to my sister's grave. It used to feel like it was my own sacred place, and I was now sharing it with Izzy. I didn't feel anything bad, like a part of me was being ripped away. I was actually warm inside when she gave a polite little dip to the modest graveside of Gabriella Schmidt, my little sister.

Except, there was something wrong.

I knew this was her grave. It was on the sixth row on the end, the little tomb stone with the cross in the corner and the Union Jack on the other. This grey stone was hers, I was almost positive. I could find it in my sleep. But the words on it were betraying my reasoning.

It should say Gabriella Andrea Schmidt. It always had.

Instead, it only says one word.

Chica.

"Do you see this…?" I pointed to the headstone, and Izzy raised an eyebrow at me.

"Yeah, Mike. It's a grave."

"No, no. The name."

"It's says Gabriella."

"It doesn't."

She planted her hands on her hips, cocking her head. "It says Gabriella, Mike. Quit joking around. This is serious."

"I am serious…"

It should say Gabriella. Why does it say Chica? Why do I see Chica?

"_No Shawn. I'm Chica."_

Before I could comprehend, I was on the ground, trying to scrabble away from the grave, but the voice was already in my head.

"_It's Chica."_

_Chica._

_Chica._

_Chica._

I thought I screamed again, but I can't be sure. Everything rushed into a familiar blackness, and I felt like I was falling, but I wasn't alone. A child's laughter kept me company.

* * *

**Familiarity is a part of half remembering.**

**-Soul Spirit-**


	5. Run Shawn It's Freddy

**The Year I Missed the Spring**

**A Five Night's at Freddy's story.**

* * *

**Chapter Five: Run Shawn. It's Freddy. **

* * *

When I woke up again, the greatest feeling I had ever experienced in my eighteen years of life elated my chest. A pinpricking feeling punctured the tips of my fingers and pinched its way up my arm, as foreign words formed in my mouth and wraped around my tongue.

_I remember. _

The hospital lights seared my retinas, but I forced myself onto my forearms anyway, the world rushing around me like runny water colors under a dentist light.

I remember. I remember _something._

"Chica."

The word was hoarse and broken, but it was there and I could remember. That name danced across my sister's grave; that name bore the same lilac eyes.

"Mike, you okay?"

I gave my brain a moment to compute the colors of the world, drawing them into their particular boundaries until I made out Izzy's face, contracted and worried. I could finally look her in the eyes and tell her those words, which only made the elation reach my head and made my mind dizzy with the wonderful idea of it.

"I remember Chica." I repeated. If I could remember that, could I remember more? I have to know. I have to go back to that place. _Now._

"Mike, I think you hit your head…"

I flexed my fingers and rotated my neck, just to prove I was mentally fine. "Izzy, I'm serious. I remember Chica."

I expected relief to cloud her face, for her to grab my hand and congratulate me for this accomplishment—but instead, her face was dark, and she looked at me as though I was crazy.

"Izzy…"

She snapped her gum at me, and any attempt at conversation was sealed in my throat.

"Just drop it Mike." She said.

I can't believe her! Why is she acting like this? I could finally remember, but she was brushing me off like the teenage runaway I was. I didn't understand.

"Izzy I can't… I said I—"

"I know what you said!" She cut me off, her arms crossed flat on her chest. Why was she so angry?

"Iz—"

"You passed out," She continued as if I had never breathed. "That's it."

I couldn't understand. Did I do something wrong? No. I didn't remember doing anything, and I actually could account for that.

"What's your problem Izzy?"

She scowled at me, as if I was terrible for asking such a question, but she wouldn't elaborate. Instead, she plopped herself at my beside, and turned her back to me. What happened to the girl that was so willing to help me? Was she starting to back out now? Or maybe… she never really cared in the first place?

"Nothing." She finally said. "This whole thing has me creeped out. I don't want to talk about it."

"Izzy…" What else could I say?

"Just drop it Mike.

But I had to know more. Chica, who was Chica? Izzy had to know, and that's why she was isolating me. She couldn't keep this from me, even if it did bother her…

"Who is Chica?"

Her glare was like daggers, but my chest felt so numb I couldn't feel their impact. Whatever happiness I had felt has withered, and in its place stood the numerous questions I had that no one, not even Izzy, would answer.

"It doesn't matter." She snorted. "Just forget it. I'm serious."

I didn't get to decide what I remembered. Her choice of words nailed me right in the gut as a sign that maybe she really didn't care, and never did from the start. Maybe all this was a pity party hoax, just because I was a runaway like she had been.

"You're just like everyone else." I ball the blanket in my fists, refusing to look at her, but I know she was turned to face me when I felt her eyes sear my skull. "You don't really want to help me know the truth. You're just here to pass me along."

She opened her mouth, but now it was my turn to cut her off. "You never have cared, have you?" Something surged in my mouth. "You just needed some sorry loser who would work for you."

I wasn't positive about what I had just said, but whatever it was, had her eyes wide. Checkmate I guess. My assumption had been right.

"I don't need you." I flung the blanket from my body. "I can find out about Chica myself."

I go to get up, but something stopped me, that something being Izzy's arm slung across my legs before I could get them free.

"I'm trying to protect you Mike." Her eyes were firm on mine.

"You're trying to keep me from remembering. Just like everyone else."

She shook her head, and for a moment, I saw the old Izzy before my blackout, the one who was calm and badass all at the same time.

"You don't understand what you're getting into because you don't remember, but I do."

I grabbed her arm, but instead of removing it, I just hold onto it like a lifeline. "Then help me understand. I want to know what is going on."

Again, this new Izzy replaced the old, causing her to slink away from my touch as though she was defeated. "No Mike. This stuff is too fucked up. You just might as well move on from it. You have a whole life ahead of you. Don't let yourself get stuck in the past."

That was it. I couldn't stand it anymore.

"That's easy for you to say." I would have regrets, but I wanted to get those bitter words off my tongue. "You can remember everything. But once you forget a spring Izzy, most people want to remember it. Especially if their own sister died in it!"

"Don't get me started on that!" Her tone matched mine, but hers was wobbly as she fought back her tears. This Izzy was weak. "I know what it's like to lose a sibling!"

"Least you can remember it!"

"I wish I didn't!"

Only silence was fitting to follow those words. When her tears began to slip down her face, I didn't give her a hug and tell her I was sorry, because I wasn't. I simply got up from the hospital bed, signed myself out at the front desk, and left.

I was gone.

In hindsight, I should have stayed. I should have wiped the tears away and apologized, because in the end she had given me something I hadn't had in a long time—friendship. When I left the hospital that day, that piece was left behind too, and I had to experience the brutal world alone.

They say you tend to have regrets after a fight, and I did—not in the first few days, but in the weeks after. I had been selfish, but I needed my answers more then I needed a companion. You don't forget an entire season just because it was boring, especially if someone close to you died during it. Something traumatizing happened. That would explain the therapists and the pills, the tiptoeing and the silence.

But what did Chica had to do with it?

When I could, I would go to the library, but there was nothing about anyone named Chica. The only search that provided anything was a Spanish dictionary that told me Chica meant girl. I never found anything after that. There was no newspaper articles, clippings, anything.

Doubt soon followed. Maybe I didn't remember correctly. Maybe Chica was wrong. There could be different variants to what I could be trying to remember. For all I knew, I could have been trying to remember a chicken and somehow gave it the name Chica.

I did make progress though, after I left Izzy, and it started on one of the nights that I slept outside in the park, and a dream was formulating in my mind. This time, I could remember it. Most of it anyway.

I was in a huge ballroom sort of place, with tall ceilings that I couldn't even see the end of. From top to bottom the walls stretched with huge checkered plates, like it was one huge chess board. I sat in the middle of the room at a table for one, with my mind playing tricks on me. It looked like the walls were moving towards me, but they weren't, because the black and white created an optical illusion. It was pretty amusing, at least for a while, before the urge to explore surged my chest, and I got up from the table and began to walk.

All there was was black and white tiles for a long time. I felt like I was going nowhere until I saw a set of blood red curtains dangling from the dark ceiling all the way to the floor, guarding something that made the fabric rustle. Naturally, I walked over to it, and for the first time noticed the large neon sign hanging above my head as if it was a directory.

_Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria._

I knew for certain that name was familiar, so I wrote it down somewhere in my mind to refer to again later. Maybe it could help me on my search for Chica.

Like a curious child, I grab a fold of the curtain, intent on pulling it back; and just as I was about to, I heard the pounding feet of someone rushing at me, and before I could turn to confront them they rammed into me so hard I slammed into the floor. Although it didn't hurt, it startled the hell out of me, and I wouldn't turn over to my back until my heart had recovered from its heart attack.

"What are you, stupid? _He's_ sleeping in there!" It was a quiet sort of yell that gave me the slight courage to roll on my back and look at my attacker in the face.

It was a young boy, his red hair hanging to his chin, some of it braided, most of it left straight. One of his eyes was covered with what looked like black duct tape, and as I trailed my eyes down his body, I gulped. He was missing his right hand.

Frustrated, the boy huffed, as if he was expecting something. Slowly getting to my feet, I brushed off my clothes.

"Um…"

"I just saved your life." The redhead jestered dramatically to the curtain, but my eyes were on the fact that his sleeve kept slipping over the missing ligament. "Could I at least get a thank you?"

"I got a heart attack instead. Does that count?"

Something about my brutally honest comment made him laugh; not loud enough disturb whatever he was scared of, of course. When he looked at me with a huge grin, I barely managed to return a small one.

"I'm Foxy." He chirped lightly, and when I opened my mouth to introduce myself, he stopped me. "I already know who you are. You're Shawn right?"

Something in the way he said my old name sent a shiver down my spine. How did he know me anyway?

"Uh… Ya… But I go by Mike now."

He cocked his head a little. "I like Shawn better. That's a lot more fun to say when we play."

_When we play?_

The subliminal shadows, the eerie words, the strange kid that appeared out of nowhere were all giving me the creepy vibes, the same kind that told me I needed to book it. The bad thing was, this kid seemed pretty fast. I couldn't out run him, even if I got a ten second head start.

"So um…" I rubbed my hands together, feeling as if all the blood had escaped my right hand. "Who is behind the curtain exactly…?"

Foxy tsked me lightly, but nonetheless explained. "Freddy of course!"

"And why do we not want to wake him up?"

Looking around, afraid someone might overhear us, he grabbed my arm and proceeded to drag me away from the curtain. For a few moments, I imagined all the horrible places he would take me to to experiment on me, before we stopped in a room that looked like an arcade. When I turned, I couldn't see the curtain anymore, even though it was so massive.

Feeling safer, Foxy perched himself on the edge of an old pinball machine, swinging his legs back and forth, but I kept my healthy distance from him. Behind the redhead, I could see a pair of curtains, identical to the first but parted, with nothing behind them.

"Was something supposed to be there?" I pointed behind him. He verified what I was mentioning, before he looked at me and nodded.

"Ya. That's where I was standing before I came to rescue you."

That couldn't be possible.

"You ran from here, all the way over _there_?"

His nod was more enthusiastic. "I did. Pretty fast, huh?"

If it came down to it, there was no way I was getting away from him if I tried to escape. What was I going to do? I could try to take out his legs, but I don't think that would keep him down for long…

"So about the thing, you know, not waking up Freddy and all…" Foxy interrupted my thoughts. "Do you still want to know the reason?"

I didn't have much of a choice. Besides, I was curious, and he seemed willing to give me answers. "Sure."

Leaning back on his one good hand, Foxy stared up at the ceiling as though he was reminiscing. "Freddy is pretty scary. And mean." He pouted. "He makes me stay in here all by myself because that is how it's supposed to be. It's not fair. I mean if Bonnie and Chica can stay on the stage, why can't I?"

My body jolted at the name. "Chica? Can you tell me about Chica?"

Something about the desperation in my voice made him grin—not the type of grin as before. This one was predatory, one where I could make out the sharp fang-like canines in his rows of teeth.

"You really want to know about Chica?"

"Yes."

I'd finally had a lead to go on, something to look for. I wouldn't be walking in endless circles because finally I would have a direction to go in. But when I finally got my hopes up, something crushed it—the look of fear that passed over Foxy's face when we both hear a tune begin to play.

_Dun dundundundunddun dununun._

"Shawn, it's Freddy! You have to run!"

And I did. Something about his voice, the slight squeak in it, and the way he rushed to charge the player of that music as if to stop it, as I took off running past the miniature stage and through the endless arcade games, screamed at me to escape. Every part of my being strained like a natural impulse, subconsciously knowing that if I was to be caught it wouldn't be good.

I felt caught in a dead sprint for hours, but that music never lessened. It felt like it was playing right behind me, closing in on me, and just as I felt as I was almost out of that arcade maze—I was pounced on. Fingers that felt like claws smashed my face into the floor, and I could feel a heavy breathing next to my ear, and the dank smell of decay coming from their mouth.

"Shawnnn…"

I was lucky, because before Freddy could do whatever awful terrible thing he wished to inflict on me, I woke up in a cold sweat, clutching the grass beneath my fingers as I tried to breathe. I couldn't remember Foxy, but I could remember one thing.

_Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. _

And I carried that with me well into my twenties.

* * *

"Your name is Mike Schmidt?"

"That's correct."

"You wish to apply for the security guard shift—at night?"

"That's right."

"You know son there are better jobs at this establishment. You could be an entertainer or—"

"I want to be a security guard."

"Well… alright then…"

I followed the man as he took me to the back, handing paper after paper for me to sign—legal things he reassured me, not that I cared. This would be the second job I had ever taken, but only the first one I could remember; and it was hard to believe that a 26-year-old would be applying at a place like this.

"One more thing…" The man said, plopping the mandatory security guard hat on my head. "There's a lot of activity during the night shift, if you're okay with that."

"Fine by me."

With all the legal matters aside, the man took me through the incitation steps. This week would be my trial run, to know if I could become a permanent employee or not. My shift lasted from 12 to 6. Someone would come in the morning to relieve me when my time was up. If I didn't like things after my 5th day, I could be moved to the day shift, but I didn't plan on taking the offer.

I had a mission, and I'll be damned if I didn't complete it.

I thanked the man, who I believed to be the manager, again for the hundredth time since he hired me. I had a good feeling about this. I know I could remember more, and it had to start with this place.

Lastly, the man explained that my shift would began the following the day, and kindly lead me through the building and towards the front entrance. We went through several rooms, where kids were having parties, one in particular with a large stage and an animatronic band playing to the delight of the children.

I couldn't help myself, and stopped to observe, my eyes on the chicken that sang with such a sweet and crisp voice that it made it seem human. Smiling a little, I pulled the bill of the hat down over my eyes, and under my breath I said:

"Don't worry Gabriella… I'll save you."

The animatronics movements stuttered in my direction, and all three of them looked directly at me. Tipping my hat as a farewell for now, I followed the manager and walked out the door, eager for my return to my first night at the Grand Re-Opened Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria.

* * *

**And the real story begins…**

**How is it so far? Think it's okay? Tell me how you feel in the reviews.**

**-Soul Spirit-**


	6. Night One, Izzy

**The Year I Missed the Spring**

**A Five Night's at Freddy's story.**

* * *

**Chapter Six: Night One, Izzy**

* * *

I was checking over my appearance in a cracked mirror at the gas station, mulling over the little details I usually wouldn't be bothered by—the way a section of my bangs liked to stick up like a cowlick, how my slacks were so long they dragged the floor. Those things could be easily fixed, but I wasn't a seamstress or a hairdresser, so it seemed impossible under my standards, and it worried me that maybe the manager would frown upon it.

I had the uniform buttoned all the way to my throat, and although it was uncomfortable, it gave me a sort of business-type look. The hat they gave me lay crooked on my head—and no matter how many times I adjusted it, it just stayed at an angle.

"Come on… cooperate." I mumbled, mushing the cap on my head, but my hair just seemed to inflate underneath it to make it crooked once more. "I really need this job…"

For more than one reason too. I needed the money—bad. After I left Izzy, I was bouncing everywhere I could sleep: airports, parks, the local grocery store if I hid well enough. Naturally, the second reason was to learn more about Chica and the Incident, but I had another hour before I could march up there and start my investigation.

So, to try to starve my boredom, I wondered around the gas station, checking out magazines as I awaited my time to leave. I was getting into a pretty good article about a scandalous celebrity couple when I felt someone walk down the same aisle as me and stop.

"Mike… is that you?"

I glanced up. I knew that voice, and although the hair was a wild mess of purple streaks, it was physically the same girl; and her eyes were wide as she stared at my hat. It took me a moment to remember my new job location was printed on the front.

"Yeah it's me. Hey Izzy." I gently folded up the magazine, sitting it back down on the rack, and turned back to her. I had actually gained a few inches on her, which was surprising, since I always felt so short.

"You can't be serious…"

I quirked an eyebrow. "About?"

"Working there. At Freddy Fazbear's."

I gave a small shrug. "I had to wait eight years for it after they tore the old place down. I thought why the hell not."

There was something wild in her eyes that matched her wild hair, and for a moment I wondered if this was Izzy at all. She looked like her and talked like her, but she still didn't act like her.

"You're crazy…" She shook her head, and moved to the next aisle, but I wouldn't let that be the end of our conversation.

"You wouldn't help me so I had to find out on my own." I said over the top of the shelves.

"It's not like I didn't want to help you Mike." I could see her tossing something into her bag. "It's that I couldn't. You don't remember what happened but I do. That's a place you don't want to be."

She was just as cryptic as my parents.

"Then tell me what happened!" I snapped, a little too loudly, rounding the corner so I could be on the same aisle as her. She was stuffing baby formula into her bag.

"I can't!" She hissed, ducking her head when the cashier gave her a look. "I can't. You didn't believe me before, so why would you believe me now."

"Izzy—"

"Don't Izzy me!" She seemed irritated, and in a heartbeat I could see why. She wasn't chewing any gum. "You thought I was crazy the last time, and just to prove that I wasn't, we went back there and almost got ourselves killed." The more she talked, the more she lowered her voice until the last few words were barely a whisper.

"Well I'm not backing out now. I have the night shift tonight." Some part of me, the decent side, still wanted to be nice. "Here, let me help you carry some of your bags—"

When I reached out, she recoiled a few steps, leaving my hand extended and empty. "You took the night shift?"

"Yeah. It's the shift I wanted. No one would be there when I looked around."

She pinched the bridge of her nose, like she was dealing with a child. Then that reminded me.

"So Izzy... do you have a kid…?"

She rolled her eyes at the way I sounded, as if I was still an eighteen-year-old runaway and not a 26-year-old adult. I was almost sure she would hold the answers from me again, before she said:

"Yes. A four-year-old and a one-year-old." Almost like she feared she said too much, she hurried to the cash register to pay for her things.

"Wait, Izzy!" She crammed the change in her pocket and didn't bother to collect the receipt as she jogged out into the parking lot, jumped into the passenger seat of a running truck, and was gone in a second.

I didn't think after years of separation that would be our first conversation. I mean, I only knew her for a short amount of time, but I still considered her my only friend.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the cashier shaking her head at the truck as it peeled out, sighing softly to herself.

I was curious. "What…?"

The cashier perked, as if she hasn't been expecting someone to have noticed her. I could see her nametag read Tatum. "It's nothing. Really."

I glanced out the window again, seeing the strips of thick tire marks from the truck, and the faint remnants of smoke lingering in the air. "That was my friend." I paused. "My best friend. I haven't seen her for eight years."

"O-oh." Tatum awkwardly scratched her cheek, looking about everywhere else but me. "She… u-um… didn't look to happy to see you."

My fist clenched, my other raising to pull the bill of my hat to shadow my eyes. "Yeah. She didn't."

Realizing the extent of her words, the girl was quick to add. "B-but that's probably because of her boyfriend!"

When I imagined mothers, I imagined them married to the man that bore their child. Something about that just nailed me in the gut, and made me nauseous from standing.

"Boyfriend…"

She bounced her head up and down, a bit too perky. "Mh-hm! He's an asshole." She squeaked and covered her mouth, like she just realized she was still working. "I mean, he's not a good guy."

Part of me was high strung at the idea that Izzy would be running with the wrong people. That same part of me wanted to walk up to this so called boyfriend and nail him right in the jaw; but the other half of me just murmured _I could see that coming. _And I could. A runaway with no job might resort to undesirable methods—it still didn't sit well with me though.

"What's his name anyway?"

Tatum chewed thoroughly on her bottom lip as she thought about this. "Z... um... Zae... Zack! His name is Zack!"

"_What are your names?"_

_"Mathew!"_

_"Zack!"_

_"Henry!"_

"_Alright Foxy! Matthew, Zack and Henry have your treasure!"_

I violently grabbed the aisle rack to keep myself from falling, nearly scaring Tatum to death.

"S-sir?"

What was that? A memory? The voice... it was Izzy's voice. I know it was. I tried to get my balance back, but my legs were like potato chips, ready to crackle beneath my weight. I don't understand. Foxy? Treasure? What does Izzy have to do with it?

When I finally felt like I could stand on my own again, and tried—Tatum was trying to call the police on me.

"Whoa whoa whoa I'm sorry!" I ran over, wrenching the phone from her hand. The last thing I needed was for me to get arrested before I even started my first shift. "Hey I'm sorry I was just... thinking and I remembered something and it freaked me out."

Something in my words made the fear dissipate in an instant. In its place, she narrowed her eyes in a comical suspicious sort of way, cocking an eyebrow up as she crossed her arms.

"Oh really?"

I nearly snorted with laughter. "Yes really."

She screwed up her face, trying to maintain the look, but she failed, her mouth gushing into a huge smile. "Hey, that's okay. That happens to me too."

"Serious?"

She nodded, and leaning over the counter, she cupped her mouth as she whispered. "My mom even takes me to a therapist. She thinks I'm crazy."

She wasn't the only one.

"I see."

"But I'm not crazy." Tatum insisted. "My phobia of bears is a real thing!"

I quirked an eyebrow. And I thought I had some mental instability. "Phobia… of bears?"

"And not just any bears!" She held up her hands, making a poofing motion. "Singing bears."

My forehead warranted a face palm, which I gladly gave. Just what the hell is this girl taking anyway? I almost want to take her home to my parents and say, 'Look, you thought I was insane. Now listen to this girl speak for half an hour'.

"They're horrible I tell you!" Tatum slammed her hands on the counter, startling me slightly. "Deadly too! One of them tried to kill me I tell you!"

"Right…" Attentively, I took a few steps away from her, sitting the phone down gently. Glancing up at the clock, it was about time for me to leave. "Well I better get to my jo—"

"Don't let him get you too."

Eh?

"Excuse me…?"

"I said, don't let him get you like he got me." Everything childish about Tatum was gone. I couldn't understand how she went from a psychopath to an estranged murderer in a heartbeat. Her words though burned something in my soul, the fetus of a memory that was too young to be remembered. Maybe she wasn't entirely crazy after all.

Either that or we were both due a visit to the nut house.

"Er… okay."

At that, her smile returned, but it was much creepier than it had been, and I was quick to get out the door.

"Have fun! And don't die~!"

I was starting to think hanging out at a gas station wasn't the greatest thing in the world anymore.

* * *

I arrived at my shift on time—which was surprising, considering I spent longer than I had thought with Tatum. My manager was pleased to see my face come through the door.

"There you are Mike!" He said, shaking my hand. "I was worried there for a minute.

I smiled. "Don't worry. I wouldn't miss this job for the world."

"That's the right spirit! Glad to see you're wearing your uniform too." I suddenly became self-conscious about my hat. "Normally employees don't want to heed to the rule."

"Hey. Gotta look good on my first day on the job right?"

This received a chuckle. "Point taken. Follow me."

He took me on the tour of the establishment. The place seemed fairly large, considering its main attraction was its birthday parties. The first place we arrived at he called the 'Show Stage', where the grand performances were held for the children—the same place Chica was standing, inactive, behind the thick woven curtains. This was where I'll be spending my first shift at Freddy Fazbear's.

"Sir, who else is behind the curtain with Chica?"

The manager gazed almost fondly towards the stage. "Ah, that would be her companions Bonnie the Bunny and Freddy Fazbear."

_"I'm Bonnie!"_

_"My name is Freddy."_

I blinked, trying to remain calm in the presence of my new boss. What the hell was that? _It was just like at the gas station. But I don't feel scared about this one. Why is that? _The emotion I felt as I clutched the wired aisle was raw and utter panic. What I felt just then was almost… surreal.

"Mike? Everything okay Mike?"

I snapped back to reality. I would have time to ponder over all this stuff on my six hour shift.

"Yeah… I'm fine. Sorry."

"Anyway like I was saying… there is several party rooms…"

The tour continued into these said party rooms, showing the congregation of plastic tables, already suited up with party hats for the next celebration. I wasn't sure why he referred to it as several though. It was one massive room, just sectioned off by panels. As we walked through, I could feel something pinch the outside of my throat.

"This back here is the Backstage room." It was a quaint little room that branched off from the party room, its main purpose serving to store the access animatronic parts. Jokingly, I lifted up an extra head of Bonnie, I think.

"These things look terrifying." I kidded, moving its mouth up and down.

"Ya. They kind of freak me out at night though." The manager shrugged when I turned to him questioningly. "Anyway, come on. We need to hurry."

"_You thought I was crazy the last time, and just to prove that I wasn't, we went back there and almost got ourselves killed."_

I hated to admit it, but I was starting to get an uneasy feeling about this place.

On the other side of the party hall were the bathrooms, which there was nothing really exciting to report about. Next came the kitchen, placed on the same side as the laboratories. I didn't get to go inside. The manager simply just tapped on the door.

"This is the kitchen." He explained. "They don't like anyone screwing with things after hours, so please just stay out of here. The camera is busted because they like their privacy."

The more we walked, the more nervous I became, until I couldn't stay on one tile for long as we entered a place dubbed 'Pirate's Cove'. Explanation: the place was out of order because some family in Florida threatened to sue them if they used the animatronic there as an attraction. I asked why, and he simply shrugged his shoulders, said, 'an accident', and continued on our way.

From the large party room jutted out two hallways, both leading to the same place—the security room, where I would be staying. After our tour, it was nearly one o'clock, and I almost felt too exhausted to return to the Show Stage room on the other side of the building.

"That's basically it. You've already signed off on the legal things so that won't be a problem." The manager pursed his lips, thinking. "There was a prerecorded message left by the Security Guard before you, but you seem pretty capable."

I could hear what he was saying, I just couldn't comprehend it. There was something very odd about the room we were standing in. Sure, it had the TV's on the desk, each one monitoring a camera; there was even a rolly chair for me to sit in, and a fan to keep me company. But that wasn't the weird thing. On both walls, right beside the doorframe, and parallel to each other were two buttons—Light and Door.

_Huh?_

"Oh, and one more thing." I was beginning to notice the manager was nervously checking his watch every few minutes. "The animatronics get a little quirky, but there's nothing to worry about. There is four of them okay?"

_Four?_ I thought there was only three, the main ones on the stage.

"Wait, where is the fourth—"

But the manager was already gone, and I was left alone. I had more questions than answers already. I didn't dwell on those factors though. My first mission was to investigate Chica and her companions.

_But what did he mean by quirky?_

I stepped out into the hallway, intent on starting my mission, but there was one problem—it was pitch black, aside from the flickering lights at the end of the hall. There was no way I could navigate all the way to the Stage and back in a place I only just toured today.

"Well great…" I huffed, pressing my hat down on my head, only for it to spring back up. "I gotta find a flashlight."

Part of me wanted to forgo the exploring until another night. I mean, it was my job after all to monitor the cameras. What would they say if they found out I wasn't doing what I was getting paid for? However, there was still that other fraction that said you're here for a reason. Let's get down to business.

So I did.

I hopped into the rolly chair, pulling out the drawers until I heard a clang, and a flashlight emerged from the depths. Bingo. It was quite bulky when I lifted it; and kicking the drawer shut, I pressed the button and it flickered weakly against the walls. It was better than nothing. Before I started my investigation, I glanced at the cameras. Everything seemed perfectly normal. Chica, Freddy, and Bonnie was still poised on the stage. _Freddy looks like a bear…_ I shook my head. I really am crazy if I think I'm going to listen to Tatum's warning.

"She's on meds or something…" I convinced myself as I stepped out into what qualified as the West Hall. My voice bounded across the walls, making me shiver as it echoed. It was ten times creepier at night.

Get over yourself Shawn. It's nothing. You're being a wimp. If Izzy was here, that's what she would've called me.

I continued down the hall with a sense of guilt hanging over my head. I mean I could have been nicer—

What was that?

It was pounding, like little fists on the floor. I couldn't understand but it was rumbling from somewhere in the party room; something told me to run but I couldn't move. I searched the darkness questioningly. Maybe it had been my imagination? But the pattering hadn't stopped. What…?

I was starting to have second thoughts about exploring.

A sudden shriek had me screaming too, as something flung itself through the flickering light at the end of the hall, toward me, shrieking again at the sight of me as its body took shape as one massive shadow. Terrified, I flung the flashlight in its direction, but I know it didn't hit anything. My next instinct was to run, but the moment I turned it struck me in the back and sent me flying forward. It shrieked again and this time I heard something pop in my ears, but I couldn't let it get me. I grappled with the slick floor underneath my hands, pushing myself into a sprint that the thing was quick to resume.

I had to get to the security room.

This time, I heard the whirl of some kind of metal before I was struck again; but this time I cried out when something sharp scrapped my back, surely ripping more than my shirt in the process. Adrenaline was just flooding into my veins, forcing me to complete the last stretch nonetheless in only a few strides, something my rather short stature could never accomplish; but even close to the safety of the room, the thing didn't even attempt to let up its pace, and once again it was nipping at my heels. I was prepared for the third strike, side stepping into the office before it could land another blow and slammed my hand on the button that read Door. My aorta was ready to suffer a premature heart attack when a panel slid shut, locking whatever it was outside the room; and as it began to bang on the door, I backed away. What the hell. What the hell. What the hell.

I could hardly breathe, and my heart would barely pump; even though it was a short hallway, it felt like an eternity, and I was beginning to feel my muscles cramp from ill use, and my back ache from being struck.

Shakenly, I lowered myself into the chair, taking off my hat to run my fingers through my hair, attempting to ignore the stinging protest of my back as I leaned into it.

It had been right there. Whatever it was had almost gotten me. I took a deep breath, but my exhale was painful. Was it an intruder? I had to be sure. I raised my eyes, searching through the cameras for any abnormalities.

I found one. And it wasn't what I expected.

Bonnie the Bunny was gone.

* * *

**Welcome to your first night.**

**-Soul Spirit-**


End file.
